by Amii Lorin
Vichy winced and averted her suddenly teary eyes. God, she hated to disillusion Josh. He had always been so protective of her. So very much the big brother.
"Now don't go feeling bad about Josh," Johanna admonished, correctly reading Vichy's emotions. "He'll be fine as soon as he takes the time to think. We are all merely human, Vichy. Getting pregnant by the man you love is nothing to be ashamed of." Slipping an arm around her shoulders, she gave her a quick hug, then scolded, "Now eat something. You and Ben have a lot to do."
That week Vichy was to learn that when Ben set his mind to something, he didn't fool around. They drove into Reading to apply for the marriage license and went directly to a lab for the required blood tests after leaving the courthouse.
Tuesday they paid a visit to Vichy's family doctor for their physical examinations. No sooner had she finished introducing Ben to the man who had helped bring her into the world then Ben startled her by a request.
"Could you prescribe something for Vich for morning sickness?" he asked very smoothly.
Having been around for a long time, Dr. Rightmeyer received the news of Vichy's pregnancy with aplomb. "Let's have a look at you," he said to her quietly, ushering her into his examining room.
"How did you know I had morning sickness?" Vichy demanded as they left the office some thirty minutes later, the prescription for pills to control the vomiting in her hand.
"Bette," Ben said unconcernedly. "She told me that's how she'd discovered it."
Although Vichy resented his take-over attitude, she was relieved at the cessation of the racking heaves every morning.
Saturday dawned clear and bitter cold, and Vichy wanted nothing more then to burrow under her covers and escape the day. She loved Ben. If possible more now than before. But she was selfish as far as he was concerned, and the idea of possibly having to share him with others was a torment she would just as soon not have to go through.
The arrival of Mattie and her family drew her out of her bed with a sigh of resignation.
Josh and his family arrived thirty minutes after Mattie and the house rang with voices, all talking at the same time, all, including Josh, teasing Vichy unmercifully. Her family may have been initially shocked at the news of her pregnancy and the need for a hurried wedding, but they were a close unit and they had closed ranks protectively around her.
In midafternoon they made a three-car convoy as they drove to the district justice's office. Ben was waiting for them and Vichy made hurried introductions before they went inside. In less than fifteen minutes it was over, and Vichy's finger was adorned with a plain band of gold that proclaimed her Ben's wife.
The party began as soon as they got back to the house. Vichy, in an effort to avoid close contact with Ben, kept herself busy helping her mother with the food and her father with the drinks—which seemed to flow very freely. At one point she observed Ben in deep conversation with Mattie. At another, she saw Josh and Ben with their heads together. Quite sure her big brother and sister were cautioning Ben on taking care of her, Vichy steered clear of both conferences.
Vichy went cold all over when Ben declared it was time for them to leave. Moving stiffly, she went to her room to get her coat and overnight case—the only case that had not been stashed in the hatchback of her car. Fighting tears, she glanced slowly around the only room she had ever really thought of as hers and then, turning away quickly, she walked out and closed the door.
Their leavetaking was prolonged and noisy, but finally Vichy was behind the wheel of her car following Ben's Grand Prix to the motel.
As she trailed his red taillights, it suddenly hit Vichy that other than somewhere in central New Jersey, she hadn't the vaguest idea of where she was going. The plan had been for them to stop at the motel for Ben's things and then drive straight through to his home, Vichy following him in her own car. So, when they reached the motel, Vichy remained behind the wheel and frowned at Ben when he came around to her door and opened it.
"I'll wait here," she said tersely.
"I've changed my mind," Ben informed her coolly. "It's too late to start home today. We'll stay here tonight and get an early start in the morning."
"B-but—" Vichy stuttered, suddenly very, very nervous.
"I'm too tired to argue, Vich," Ben sighed, swinging the door wide. "Just get out of the car… please."
Knowing procrastination would be futile, Vichy slid from behind the wheel, thankful that the room had two beds.
"You may have the bathroom first," Ben offered as soon as the door had closed behind them.
Not about to argue, Vichy opened her valise, removed her nightwear, and dashed into the bathroom. She drew out her shower and nightly routine as long as possible and then, belting her robe securely, she walked back into the bedroom and stopped in her tracks.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ben, looking tall and lean and altogether too naked in nothing but very brief shorts, was turning from one of the beds where he had just folded back the covers.
"You look tired," he said softly, his eyes making a minute inspection of her face. With a wave of his hand he indicated the bed. "Why don't you turn in?"
The sight of him unnerved her and, breathing carefully, she murmured, "I am not sleeping with you, Ben."
"Why not?" he asked even more softly. "You enjoyed sleeping with me before."
"Yes," Vichy snapped. "Before I realized I was expected to share you with others."
Ben went rigid, a frown drawing a dark line between his brows. "I think you had better explain that remark," he rapped sharply.
His tone flicked her on the raw. How dare he play the innocent? she riled silently. Standing stiffly erect, she glared at him defiantly. He was totally unimpressed.
"I'm waiting, Vich," he ground out, sounding like a man who was hanging on to his patience by sheer willpower. Moving slowly, he crossed the room to stand in front of her, his eyes warning dire things if she did not speak quickly.
Vichy was suddenly very tired. She had been living on her nerves for weeks. Now, when she needed them most, her nerves gave up the battle. Closing her eyes wearily, she began speaking in a fiat monotone.
"I was married when I was twenty-two. A very young, dumb twenty-two."
"What does that have to do—" Ben stopped speaking when Vichy went on as if she hadn't heard him.
"Although there is no resemblance whatever between you and Brad, he loved to gamble, much the same as you do."
"Now, wait a minute!" Ben exclaimed, but again she went on, his protest unheard.
"We were married six months. I was working one of the smaller rooms in Vegas and, again much the same as you, he showed up every night for my final set. Until that last night."
Here she stopped her narrative to open her eyes and stare at him. When she continued, her voice was even lower, flatter. "I hadn't even realized the parallel but, exactly like you, he did not show up that last night. And exactly like that last night in Atlantic City with you, I was not concerned." Vichy paused to smile humorlessly. "The difference was, unlike that last night in Atlantic City, I did not find Brad in the casino. I didn't even look for him there." Her smile disappeared "Positive he was planning a private celebration of our six-month-old marriage, I rushed to our room."
Vichy had Ben's undivided attention now. As if sensing what was coming, he was hanging on to her every word.
"Wanting to surprise him, I inserted the key and unlocked the door to our room soundlessly. When the door swung open, the bottom fell out of my life. The light was on, and Brad was in bed, but he wasn't asleep, and he wasn't alone." A shudder of remembrance shook her slender body and, with a muttered curse, Ben's hand grasped her upper arms.
"Vichy, stop."
This time his fingers inflicted no pain, for though his hold on her was firm, it was also tenderly protective. His tone reflected the emotions guiding his hands.
Ignoring his command, Vichy went on tonelessly. "The woman was a cocktail waitress in the lounge, and she wa
s beautiful. They were in bed."
"Vichy, stop!"
This time his emotion-roughened voice drew her eyes to his. His were dark red with concern. Hers were opaque with sadness.
"Vichy." Ben's hands moved, giving her a gentle shake. "I'm sorry for what you had to go through, but I do not see what it has to do—" He broke off, his gaze narrowing on her face. "You said, 'Unlike that last night in Atlantic City, you did not find Brad in the casino.' What did you mean?"
"I did find you," she answered wearily.
"I don't understand," Ben shook his head. "I didn't see you again after you told me to get lost."
"I know, but I saw you." Now the blue eyes that gazed at him were misty with tears. "You were standing at the cashier's cage, having just cashed in chips to the tune of thirty-four thousand dollars. You were not alone. There was a young woman with you. She had her arms around your waist, and you were laughing and kissing each other."
"Vichy, for God's sake, that—"
"While I watched you I could see that hotel room, that bed." The low monotone was gone. With every other word Vichy's voice rose, building to an anguished cry.
"Only it wasn't Brad on that bed. Brad doesn't matter anymore. It was you I saw, Ben, you. And the pain I felt was unbearable."
"Vichy!"
"I couldn't stand it, Ben." Vichy was sobbing now, her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection as if to hold herself together. "Oh, God, Ben, I still can't stand it."
"Oh, good Lord." Ben's groan was a plea, not a curse. Sliding his arms around her, he pulled her against him, holding her tightly, as if to contain and absorb the sobs that shook her.
"Vichy, listen to me, listen," Ben said urgently. "That woman was Mike's wife, Shelly. Are you listening?" He felt her head move up and down, then he went on quietly. "She and Mike found me at the craps table just about the time I'd decided to quit while I was ahead. They had been looking for me throughout most of the day. If you hadn't run, if you had come to me, you'd have found Mike standing three feet away, grinning his damn fool head off." He bent his head and she felt his lips move against her hair. "If you had only come to me."
"Oh, Ben," Vichy moaned into his chest. "I could not have walked to you then. You can't imagine what I was feeling." Her weeping had subsided into hiccupping sobs.
"I have an idea." His arms tightened crushingly. "I know the rage and pain I felt when you intimated you had been with Mark Hartman." His voice dropped to a raspy growl. "You were lying, weren't you?"
Her murmured response was barely audible, but the affirmative motion of her head was all the answer he required. Lowering his head farther, his lips brushed over her temple, then over her ear.
"I love you, Vichy," Ben whispered fervently. "I didn't know what to do when I couldn't find you that night. Then, when I went back to our room and found your bracelet and necklace on the bed and realized you'd gone" —his voice held a raw note, and Vichy felt the shudder that rippled through his long body—"I—I thought I'd go crazy. And then, when I couldn't find you in California…" His one hand came up to tangle in her disheveled mass of dark hair. Tugging gently, he forced her head back until he could stare into her tear-blurred eyes.
"After what you just said, you don't have to tell me you love me. I know you do. But I want to hear it just the same."
"I love you, Ben, desperately."
Her avowal, her parted, trembling lips proved too much for him. With a groaned "Oh, God, Vichy," he fastened his mouth onto hers.
Scooping her up into his arms, Ben carried her to the bed. "I've been like a wildman these last weeks," he murmured as he lay down beside her. "I haven't slept worth a damn." His lips teased hers into supplication. "I'd grown too used to waking and finding you beside me."
His tongue snaked out, searching for hers. Ben was quiet for some seconds as his lips, his tongue tasted the sweetness of her mouth. "I need you, Vichy. I forget how to live when I'm away from you. Love me, sweetheart. I'm so empty. Fill me with your love."
Ben's hands, moving with urgent restlessness over her responding body, evoked a familiar wildness in Vichy. Gasping his name over and over, she lost herself in the madness that seemed to affect them both in equal measure.
Time, place, the rest of the world lost all meaning as she took him to herself as greedily as he possessed her. With her mouth and her body and her enfolding arms and legs, she immersed herself in the sensuousness of Ben's driving need of her.
It was very late when Vichy stirred inside the warm circle of Ben's arms.
"Are you cold?" he whispered.
"No," Vichy moved her face against his hair-rough chest. "I'm—I'm frightened."
"Frightened?" Ben echoed in astonishment. His body stiffened, then jerked as he flipped her onto her back where he could look into her face. "Frightened of what?" His tone reflected the baffled expression on his face.
"I was married to a gambler before, Ben," Vichy sighed. "I can't stand the idea of living my life on the highs and lows of the careless toss of a pair of dice."
"What the hell is this?" Jackknifing into a sitting position, Ben turned and grasped her naked shoulders to hold her flat and still. "I am not a gambler. I enjoy gambling occasionally, simply for the challenge. Lord, Vichy, life itself is a gamble."
"Are you telling me you don't gamble compulsively?" Vichy asked warily.
"Hell, no!" Ben exploded. "I told you I have a job. If you had asked, I'd have told you how I earn my living."
"But I thought it was just any old job, meaningless and unimportant," Vichy cried. "A stop-gap for when the dice or cards are cold for you."
"Good grief, I don't believe this!" Ben exclaimed, shaking his head. "Vichy, I'm a research scientist."
"A what!" Vichy's eyes flew wide in astonishment.
"A scientist," Ben nearly shouted. "Does the name Princeton ring a bell?"
"Princeton?" Vichy repeated dumbly. Then, her eyes widening even more, she whispered, "The Princeton?"
"The very same," Ben drawled dryly.
"And that's where we're going tomorrow?" she asked hesitantly.
"You got it." Ben's tone now held amusement.
Vichy bit her lip in consternation, feeling unbelievably stupid. "Then that's why you were free to be in Atlantic City that first week?" she had to ask, even though she already knew the answer.
"Right on center," Ben nodded, obviously fighting laughter. "I was on Thanksgiving break."
"Oh, Ben," Vichy wailed. "To think I almost threw it all away! I feel like such a fool."
Her tone washed all sign of amusement from his face. Releasing his hold on her shoulders, Ben slid his hands out along the bed until he was spread-eagle on top of her.
Touching her lips gently with his, he kissed her lingeringly.
"I love you," he whispered when he lifted his head. "And I don't care if you are a fool." His smile took her breath away. "As long as you are my fool."
The house, just off campus, was quiet and dark, except for a dim light in the small, centrally located room on the second floor. The leaves on the tree outside the room's one window, their brilliant fall colors reduced to a solid mass of black, rustled dryly in the pre-dawn breeze.
Inside the room the silence was broken by the rhythmic creak of rocking chair runners on the carpeted floor, and a muted, gurgling sound.
Sitting in the rocking chair, a softly tender smile on her face, Vichy gazed down lovingly at her hungrily feeding, perfectly beautiful infant daughter.
In her gulping greed, the source of the milky flow was lost, and her tiny bud lips opened in a wail of frustration. Her smile deepening, Vichy raised a hand to her breast to reinsert the nipple inside her daughter's searching mouth.
"Slow down, you little pig," she murmured laughingly. "As your pop-pop would tell you: The faster you go, the behinder you get."
A soft chuckle drew her bemused glance to the doorway. Leaning lazily against the door frame, wearing only a pair of tight faded blue jeans that looked like t
hey'd been spray-painted onto the lower half of his body, Ben watched the feeding ritual.
As her eyes touched him, Vichy was struck by the expression on his face. She had seen an expression almost exactly like that before, but where?
"I'm sorry, darling, did we wake you?" Vichy asked softly.
"No." Ben's tone matched hers for softness. "I woke up and got to missing you." His eyes remained fastened on his daughter's ecstatic face. "I'm jealous of her, you know." Ben made the admission without inflection.
"Jealous!" Vichy gasped. "Don't be silly, Ben."
"I mean it," he insisted calmly. "Every time she stakes a claim on a part of you that I consider within my own territorial rights, I feel a stab of jealousy."
Vichy felt her cheeks grow warm with a combination of embarrassment and pleasure. She didn't know why she still blushed so readily at his outrageousness. She certainly knew by now that Ben said whatever was on his mind. If her husband was nothing else, he was open and completely honest. Of course, she had learned over the last months that he was much more than that. The words tender, gentle, loving, and considerate jumped into her mind.
"Well, you have one consolation, love," she said soothingly, teasingly. "Her claim is only temporary. You hold lifetime rights."
At her soft assurance he lifted his eyes to hers and the breath caught in her throat. The expression on his face was the same as before, only now Vichy knew where she'd seen it before, and what it meant.
She had caught that same kind of expression on Mattie's husband's face several times when he had thought he was unobserved. The expression was one of near adoration.
Trembling with reaction of her discovery, Vichy studied Ben's visage more thoroughly. More fully denned, his expression proclaimed more than love. Embodied within that expression was total commitment of heart, mind, and soul.
Shaken to the depths of her being, Vichy blinked against the onrush of warm moisture to her eyes. Ben could not miss seeing the gathering tears.
"Are you happy, sweetheart?" he asked anxiously, crossing the floor to stand before her.